


In the Space Between Seasons

by Judas_is_a_Carrot_Top



Category: Seirei no Moribito | Guardian of the Sacred Spirit
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 17:16:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17349326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Judas_is_a_Carrot_Top/pseuds/Judas_is_a_Carrot_Top
Summary: There was nothing between them that would ensure her return to him. She might pause in the middle of the hunt, consider the direction of the wind and follow it away from him.





	In the Space Between Seasons

A thick smell of disuse and abandonment pervaded the hut upon Tanda and Balsa’s lonely return. Tanda opened the door and windows wide and took down the tapestries for washing. He placed a stick of lit incense in all corners. He quietly prayed for rain as he worked.

Balsa watched him from the door for a few minutes, and then took her spear to go hunting. She hadn’t needed to say anything for him to know where she was going. That was what they had now, that easy silence from knowing the other too well, along with the loss of mystery that accompanied it.

There was nothing between them that would ensure her return to him. She might pause in the middle of the hunt, consider the direction of the wind and follow it away from him. If there was a child at least, as he had thought several times before- but that would be cruel and unfair to everyone involved.

While cleaning he found Chagum’s sketches, made while waiting for Balsa to return from her business with Kalbo. To distract themselves they had gone through his collection of medicinal preparations. He recited the ingredients of each for the boy to write down and memorize. Afterwards, he took the boy for a walk through the woods to collect fresh samples for the boy to sketch. He remembered Chagum’s intent face as he used a burnt stick to copy the outline of a burdock corymb on spare wrapping paper. He remembered, too, Chagum’s surprise and pleasure when he cooked the burdock for their supper. And now Chagum was gone from their lives, leaving behind only a last glimpse of the boy’s tearful face and this sheaf of paper in his hands. Chagum was not his to grieve. He rolled up the sketches and hid them in a cedar box.

He swept out cobwebs, ash, slut’s wool from forgotten corners, mopped the floor and wiped the walls with a weakly acidic solution of vinegar and water to counter the mold. Balsa returned with a dead jackrabbit in hand. She took out the copper basin from its hiding place and went outside to butcher the rabbit. He followed her to hang out the washing.   
The air smelled of blood and mud; the ponds were low. There had never been much fish in the ponds, the water being too rich. The water lilies that once grew well were wilting. When the rains come the lily pads would grow thick and wide enough to be used as stepping stones- he remembered how he and Balsa once tried to cross the pond thus, and a misstep almost had her drowned- and send out blossoms large as a child’s head. He knew that Balsa would not stay to see the water lilies’ blooming. 

She looked up from her work, the knife blade seen through silverskin, and asked, “What’s wrong?”

He smiled, for he must have sighed. He could not tell her that he felt as if he had just presided over a childbed that ended in a stillbirth. He said, “Thinking about getting an apprentice.”

“You should. You need company up here, besides Shaman Torogai. Or-“ she gestured with the bloody knife, and he knew what was about to follow, for they have been having the selfsame conversation for the past decade and a half, and they knew they would have it for many more years to come “-you could accept that marriage offer.”

“I rather like the quiet,” he answered.

Balsa did not rebuke him. She began quartering the rabbit. It was still scrawny from its hibernation, stew it is, then. Membrane and viscera glistened wetly in the copper basin. He took the hide and brains for tanning, and went back inside the house to prepare supper.

He was the one who suggested that she leave Shin Yogo for a while. He made the suggestion gently, even as it pained him to speak. She responded only with that quiet measuring look of hers.

She did not set out her own bedding that night, or for the nights that followed. She stayed on for a week, not out of reluctance or need for preparations to leave but out of kindness for him. He felt such gratitude whenever he saw his boots and her clogs side by side by the door, though he knew it would not last. When he finally found her traveling cloak and pack by the hearth he felt as if he had been dispossessed, and not for the first time, either.

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked her before leaving. She shook her head as she slipped on her clogs. He shouldered his own pack and followed her out the door. He had chores and business to tend to in Lower Ougi. He was grateful for work, no matter that it was only a poor palliative.

They walked down the animal path together, up the rocks like a bear’s back, down to the main path towards the city. They spoke of trivial matters- his plans for the summer, the lateness of the rain. He did not ask her to return. He did not tell her he would wait anyway. That was a given, and so he could not accuse her of greed when he was the one who gave so freely.

As she turned to take the path towards Aogiri, she said, “I’ll be back by winter, spring at the latest.”

“Good luck,” he said. He did not know what else to say. Still, they caught each other looking back as they walked away. They paused to laugh at each other. He raised a hand to wave at her. She tipped her hat at him and went on.

When he returned from Lower Ougi, he aired out his bedding to drive out her smell.


End file.
